


What Doesn't Kill Me Better Try Harder

by Keletania



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Battle, Character Study, Commas are my best friend I guess gd, Crimson Flowers, Felix has feelings, Internal Monologue, M/M, Purple Prose, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Sylvain has trauma, Sylvain needs to be convinced he deserves to live, Things get darker as this continues, War Phase, updates weekly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keletania/pseuds/Keletania
Summary: Beds mean something.Fucking your best friend under tables, against desks, on training room floors; that's nothing, just blowing off steam. A person who can't feel and someone who desires the sweet relief of oblivion spending an hour or six distracted by warmth. It meant nothing, they're friends. Felix never seemed to mind, and Sylvain couldn't care. But beds, beds mean something. And Sylvain did the only thing he's good at, fucking up his own life and happiness.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	1. Fleeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> This is not the most polished fic I've ever posted; most of what follows I wrote while violently ill. It's been loosely edited, and I have every intention of going over it again with a fine tooth comb once the story is uploaded in it's entirety. The idea has spiraled into a longer fic that I'm somewhat fond of. Present goals are to edit and release at least one chapter a week. More characters and tags will be added as the story continues. 
> 
> Fair warning for people who like Dimitri, he's a mess in canon and he's a mess here. I don't hate him, promise! If everything goes to plan he'll get better later on.

Beds mean something.

Fucking your best friend under tables, against desks, on training room floors; that's nothing, just blowing off steam. A person who can't feel and someone who desires the sweet relief of oblivion spending an hour or six distracted by warmth. It meant nothing, they're friends. Felix never seemed to mind, and Sylvain couldn't care. _But beds_ , beds mean something. And Sylvain did the only thing he's good at, fucking up his own life and happiness.

Dimitri lost it, ripped a man apart with his bare hands. In the middle of the dining hall no less! Someone said something they shouldn't have, and then it was too late. Once Dimitri started he couldn't stop, and those who could stop him feared they'd be next. Everyone walked on eggshells, paranoid that this would be the day the ghosts who poisoned his every waking minute would decide they were foes not friends.

When all was said and done, Dimitri stood in the center of the room covered in blood and viscera crying as he realized what he had wrought in his enraged state. Dedue's 'out' wasn't a hard order to follow, no one wanted to be in that room. No one wanted to question if the real monster of this war walked among them. For years Felix had tried to make the rest of them see how far gone he was. No one listened, and now it's too late. There's a war on, everything's gone to shit.

Sylvain was done. He couldn't do this anymore. His plan, laughably simple: wish Felix a goodbye and ask him to pass along the message to Ingrid. He couldn't bear to look her in the eyes as he fled like the coward his parents always accused him of being. Passing the torch off to Felix was cruel, but they'd done so much worse to one another it hardly counted in the grand scheme of things. Sylvain knew he should've checked on Ingrid, but he couldn't force himself to care. Felix was upset, a feeling of concern forced him to follow. Leaving without a word was unforgivable after all, he was worried for the well-being of his dearest friend. In the chaos and calamity the others didn't notice Felix's jaw clench as his eyes dropped to the ground in shame. As if by failing to look at the horror in front of him he could vanish it away. 

Everything changed when Felix opened his door, eyes wide like a trapped animal, shock failing to leave his system. In the time it took Sylvain to carefully pack up his things and hide a horse in a nearby forest, Felix had managed to undo two buttons on his cloak and tangle his hair in a cord. He was never one for vanity, but even he preferred his hair to be free of knots and tangles. If Sylvain offered his services to remedy this situation while at camp or after a long day of war council meetings, there was no reason to refuse.

Everyone had escaped their family's obligations for the moment as they dreamed of a better tomorrow. And now every childhood friend he had was breaking or torn in two. The figmented fragments of peace too cruel to consider. Survival was all that mattered now, all that anyone knows how to do now. Sylvain couldn't bring himself to share his news. He never considered himself to be kind but he wasn't cruel, intentionally anyway.

Realizing who was at the door, Felix moved to the side allowing Sylvain entrance. Words left unsaid turned to ash in his mouth. Felix stared, asking without speaking. The level of intimacy seeing Felix so out of sorts wasn't new by any means; but his own willingness, no need to fix it was. Some sentiments were meant to stay buried, but Felix started pulling at his hair tie again and Sylvain broke. Soft sounds of comfort and encouragement left his lips as his hands worked at releasing hair that was far more delicate than it had any right to be. If Sylvain began to pet it, no one could really blame him; Felix might stab him for voicing the thought but that's to be expected.

Felix wanted to be distracted, taken away from the horrors of the day. Sylvain was always willing to assist when this particular itch overcame his closest companion, but this was different. A soft 'jump' and Felix complied, wrapping his legs around Sylvain's waist as he carried the two towards the only flat surface available. Mouths devouring the bitter taste left from the dinner show. Beds mean something, but Sylvain, so focused on his task forgot the only rule he swore to follow. _Say nothing, feel nothing._

***

Later, lazy as he always was after exerting himself so pleasantly, Sylvain began to doze. He wouldn't really sleep, the slow wave of horror had begun it's freezing course over his body. He had to leave, this wasn't how he planned to go. Sure screwing around with Felix one more time before he died as Emperor Edelgard decided that she didn't believe he changed sides would be fun. But comforting someone you held in high affection was damn close to caring for someone and that was the last thing he could risk. Right now or ever. They may not be haunting the halls as Dimitri's family was so fond of, but his parents would never forgive him for ruining their perfect future. He was a pawn, and maybe, just maybe if Edelgard didn't kill him he could laugh in their faces as he tore their world asunder. _It's the little things that really get a guy through the day._

Sylvain was drowsy; Felix's surprisingly warm. Entwined limbs and slow breathing, it would be easy to drift off for a little while. He didn't truly deserve a final night of rest, but Sylvain couldn't force himself to care. He wanted one night, or a few hours at least, of actual sleep before the perils to come. Telling the panicked voices in his head to fuck off, Sylvain got cozy. Settling into Felix's embrace, feeling fingers run over his hair, Sylvain felt calm, almost peaceful, a sentiment that was new and yet not. Surprising and complicated, Sylvain couldn't do complicated. Feeling his eyes flutter closed, stilling against his cheeks Sylvain remembered he was supposed to be comforting Felix, not the other way around. It was too late now to change things, he's too far gone. A nap was on the horizon, it had to be a nap he couldn't risk fleeing the castle when others could see him go. His hair didn't really blend in with snow, or any other form of espionage. _It's really impressive we were never caught together,_ the last thought that crossed his mind, as a feather light kiss landed on his forehead.

Whispering as if even he was unaware of the words, Felix's lips brushed against Sylvain's brow once more, "I think I might love you...isn't that strange?"

The horror returns as unconsciousness settles itself into his frame. Beds mean something. _This means something._ When did this start meaning something? And how was emotionally inept Felix the one to realize it first? Did anyone realize the change? Did his parents suspect something?

They refused his last request for Felix to visit during the brevity of summer. He was angry but didn't broach the subject again. Fighting with his parents always ended with him bloody and alone fighting goddess knows what on a far flung stretch of nothing. Dimitri's summons for his war party arrived shortly after, and Sylvain didn't have the time to question his own enraged reaction. There was a war on, more important things to do. His parents might even be proud of him, Sylvain rolled his eyes at his childish thought. They'd never be proud, only vaguely tolerant that he could fill the role they carved out for him at birth. Flames, had Dimitri not requested him specifically, Sylvain doubted his parents would have allowed him to leave their territory. However would they manage to protect their vast estate without their one man army waiting in the wings?

Sylvain wasn't often cruel, never intentionally, but as he awoke he knew it had to be done. A pathetic part of mind hoped he could use his near sleeping state to pretend that nothing had happened, it's unlikely Felix even realized he'd spoken. But that was a lie, and Felix's the only person he's never been able to lie to. One off hand remark and Felix would know things shifted. Change was unbearable. This was better, years of absconding in the night was their norm. Felix wouldn't know. By the time he might begin to remember what he said, Sylvain would be long gone. In theory, if no one caught him on his way out and reported his treason to Dimitri. If that came to pass Felix could tell his corpse how much he cared, Sylvain wouldn't be able to stop him.

Separating himself from what had been an almost pleasant moment, Sylvain began to scan the room for his pants. He could manage to borrow one of Felix's shirts, it'd be far too tight in a flattering way that always sent a delicious blush down Felix's torso, but it'd fit. Pants on the other hand, those he needed his own pair of. No amount of prayer would make Felix's leathers slide over his thighs... _now there's an unnecessary train of thought._ Taking a breath to focus, Sylvain continued his visual search, he couldn't be distracted. He had to escape before Felix woke up. A notoriously light sleeper, that often led to all sorts of prolonged late night trysts, _and there he goes again_ , but Sylvain couldn't risk it.

He smiled as he located the missing garment and began to assemble an outfit out of the clothes strewn across the floor and depression chair. Sylvain was ever so fond of teasing the mountainous pile of clothing covering the only other sitting place in the room. Nearing a wash basin, he scooped a handful of water to rinse out his mouth, pausing to admire himself in the reflection of the nearby mirror. Sliding out of the room, Sylvain couldn't stop himself from admiring his own physique. He really was hot as, _fuck!_

"Hello Sylvain." Mercedes said softly; standing near the doorway, a basket of goodies in her arms.

Sylvain couldn't find the words to express his relief he already shut the door, a slamming surprise was sure to wake up Felix. This was a mess, he wasn't supposed to have witnesses. Especially witnesses that could link him more thoroughly to Felix. Sylvain already didn't forgive himself for things, but hurting Felix, or worse someone else hurting him on his behalf would be unbearable. In response to Sylvain's rising anxiety, Mercedes reached a hand into her basket and offered him a scone. His favorite scone. _She knew._ Somehow Mercedes always knew when things changed, ready and willing to help. He knew she wouldn't tell on him, but Sylvain couldn't guarantee that Dimitri wouldn't do something to her on accident.

As if sensing his horror at leaving her here a not so accidental accomplice, Mercedes decides to speak. She waits until Sylvain has a mouth full of scone before she does, to ensure she's uninterrupted. "I'm coming with you. Now don't argue, I can't help people here. It's clear to me now," she sighs like a broken angel who lost her last shred of hope, "I can't help Dimitri when he's like this, but I might be able to help others. I don't know what's hearsay and what's propaganda but surely Edelgard isn't that bad? She was kind to me at school."

Swallowing roughly, she made these extra doughy on purpose, Slyvain replied: "It's not safe Merce, I can't risk you getting hurt."

"I doubt the road is anymore treacherous than here right now, and I've seen you travelling Sylvain...I'm worried about you. You fight like you're begging someone to end it all, and I simply won't allow it. No more blood and death, my friends will stay alive...even if it means I have to choose who to save."

She's right, he fucking hates her for it, but she's right. Trying to get himself killed, reckless as he is in all walks of life, Sylvain doubted he'd make it to Garreg Mach. In this state he wasn't sure if he wanted to, but Mercedes smiled as if treason was the most natural thing in the world. He just walked away from his oldest friend and was preparing to toss aside the rest, maybe one small selfishness was allowed? If nothing else Mercedes was a terrifying feat to behold on a battlefield, should things come to that.

"Ok, but only because you baked my fav-"

Mercedes lunged, wrapping the two in a friendly embrace. She forgot about the basket, but Sylvain was used to this and caught a muffin that went flying. Offering it back to her, the pair set off towards a new and terrifying future. Things were already so bad, but Sylvain knew they could get worse. Things can always get worse...and usually it's his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for sharing your time with me!!! Feel free to share what you loved or hated, any editing suggestions are also appreciated if you feel so inclined. 
> 
> This isn't a connected story in the traditional sense. There isn't a major overarching plot, just connected scenes of angst over the backdrop of the Crimson Flowers' war phase. Plot? What plot, this is for internal musings and sorrow. I kid, mostly, things will hopefully be more concrete next time I post.


	2. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get significantly darker this chapter. If you have a problem with or get triggered by mentions of sexual assault, especially of a minor please take care of yourself lovely and skip the last paragraph. It isn't explicit, because that would utterly disgusting and abhorrent. Sylvain has a PTSD induced breakdown before the chapter is through. I'm not adding the tag to the story because it won't really come up again as such. Subtle nods and awkward refrains as Sylvain attempts to learn how to properly process what happened will follow in the subsequent chapters, however, If anyone truly feels that the addition is warranted I won't hesitate to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Felix!   
> (He's not in this chapter, but next week the pov swaps to him.)

Bringing Mercedes along might be one the best decisions Sylvain has made in a long while. Usually so vacant stared, she could be surprisingly astute in observing her surroundings, noticing things Sylvain otherwise would not. The food's better too, which was a definite plus. Not being stuck with only his own rambling thoughts of failure and fear was also a nice change of pace. Being left alone with his own thoughts was a private horror that's led to an unknown number of bad decisions and one night stands.

The downfall of bringing Mercedes along at the last minute: the lack of supplies. Choosing to bake and swing favor her way, instead of packing the things she needs to function caused significant issues for the duo. Sylvain planned on dying alone in a ditch or maybe possibly returning to Garreg Mach. It'd really depend on the kind of day he was having, so his supplies were already a bit low from the get go. At first, he lied to himself and said packing light would make it easier to hide. Which logically is correct, but in reality he couldn't envision a future where he actually reached his destination.

Thanks to their collective quick thinking and more luck than anyone earned in their lifetime, the pair managed to escape the kingdom mostly unscathed. Sylvain released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as they neared the border. _This is it, the point of no return_. Sylvain chose to walk, leading his horse behind him. Some things needed to be felt fully to realize the consequences to come. 

Mercedes was an angel, offering conversation and stories, random snippets of songs to fill the silence. Hand in hand they crossed the final barrier between their past and present. The pair stood where snow and trees gave way to the warmth of the summer sun, feeling warmth for the first time in years. Faerghus was frigid and filled with frozen hearts led by broken minds. Turning, Sylvain embraced Mercedes, to feel the warmth of companionship as hope washed them both anew. It was risky to stay in one place, but he needed time to mourn what was and all that he had destroyed in the face of what was to come. The sun reached high into the sky when the two finally set off, blindingly bright. It's awe-inspiring to see the sun and smile, tension slowly winding its way out of their weary limbs. The journey would be perilous and full of battle as the fighting was thickest near the monastery, but the faintest inklings of hope made Sylvain believe they would reach their old school in one piece.

***

Three weeks of traveling a nonlinear path towards the heart of Fódlan, and Garreg Mach could finally be seen over the horizon. Too risky to travel straight there, Mercedes suggested they visit the smaller villages and wartorn towns to offer aid. Standing silent in the face of countless atrocities, Sylvain felt a need to atone. There was so much blood on his hands: from battle, Dimitri, his own parents. The pools of it never fully drying at his feet. 

The common people needed help, and Edelgard's forces were spread too thin to assist everywhere they were needed. Whisperings amongst the commoners told the villages ahead that help was coming. There would be laundry lists of problems to solve before he and Mercedes felt comfortable enough to venture onward. The work was often hard, but nothing worse than the requests of his parents, and he wasn't alone which was nice.

It's Mercedes turn on Rook, a name given late in the night a week into their journey. Mercedes rage at the inconsiderate nature of this oversight still hadn't waned. Enduring the full power of her wrath was terrifying; a fact she knew all too well, waiting for the moment he would eventually conceed to her demand. Sylvain couldn't give words to his trepidation at the thought, for once Mercedes couldn't connect the lines between his inaction and it's root cause. 

Sylvain missed Felix for an entirely different reason, he would've understood. Naming a horse meant he had an attachment to it, something that could be manipulated or tainted by his past and his own hands. A horse stolen from the stables had a life already, he didn't have a right to force it to begin anew. Mercedes wouldn't listen to him of course, when he finally gained the courage to explain, refusing to continue on until the third member of their traveling party was properly included into the fold. _Rook_ sufficed, Sylvain like games and years of chess proved more useful than he ever would have guessed as a child. The eyeroll and accompanying _'idiot'_ should Felix ever hear of this also helped. Not that Sylvain would admit it, even to himself, especially to himself.

The naming ceremony, because of course they had to be dramatic about something so trivial, made Mercedes happy. Her joy and steadfast belief they would reach Garreg Mach and be welcomed with open arms made traveling easier as the days went on, once she decided to forgive him anyway. Too many bodies buried and screaming children as armies left cities broken in their wake, suffering for a war they had no part in haunted their daytime hours. Dreaming of something better made life bearable. A little whimsy and childhood nostalgia helped. Even if he couldn't bring himself to thank her for it, Sylvain knew that Mercedes understood. He's eternally grateful they didn't have to speak; talking about real things has always been so allusive and terrifying. Sylvain couldn't think of a single time he tried and it ended well.

***

Sylvain still couldn't believe it. Hubert of all fucking people said he should stay. _Hubert!_ The man who threatened to kill him no less than twenty times when they attended school together. Granted, at least one of those had to do with keeping his mouth shut after a liason in the steam rooms, but still it's the principal of the thing. Fucking Hubert. 

No one bat an eye at lovely, naive Mercedes changing her sides of the war, and reuniting with a long lost brother certainly sweetened the deal. But Sylvain, he's a wildcard, a fuck up, a member of the King's Guard no less. No one wanted to trust him, he didn't trust himself most days. The Professor, so recently returned to the land of the living, looked steadfastly at the table as the Black Eagles Strike Force fought amongst themselves. They refused to speak, that one hurt. Dorothea stared daggers at him, daring him to misstep. He really had burned all his bridges, but still the smoke in the south didn't fill his lungs as quickly as the capital. He could almost pretend he could breathe as his classmates readied his neck for a noose.

A simple _'hmmm'_ from Hubert and everyone stopped, knowing his definitive refusal would end the discussion. Edelgard was still trying to find a reason to keep him around. Probably to prove her revolution stood for all people, but even she came up short with examples of how he could help. Sylvain wasn't surprised, he made it inside the monastery in one piece, which is farther than his daydreams had ever gotten him. Hubert told him to stay, under a close guard should he be a spy. An additional warrior, especially one so well versed in present Kingdom combat strategies could prove useful in the days to come. Sylvain did his best to hide his surprise at this turn of events with a joke that had something to do with how people were always watching him and nothing would really change that. It didn't hit as expected but he was given free reign of the grounds and allowed to keep his head, so it was still a win. 

Sylvain didn't know what to do with his recently allotted free time. Things were still too new for him to be granted any important tasks. Miscellaneous chores that needed doing and a promise to have regular tea with Byleth were the only directions he had been given. He met Mercedes' brother, the fucking Death Knight of all people, because irony loves siblings, and agreed to train with him. He had a thing for homicidal guys with knives, Sylvain had realized as they clashed lances. He wasn't proud of it, but he couldn't lie to himself about that, not now. Ending a training session with his pants on was a new development, but the occasional flirtation intermixed with death threats ricocheting between the pair implied that may not always be the case.

He's given his old rooms, a small comfort in a new world. A spinning cycle of random bodies that probably had names if he cared to learn them shared the space from time to time, as Sylvain continued to chase the illusive feeling of relief. He didn't want to be alone, but the thought of actually connecting with another person made Sylvain want to bash his head against a wall. He let people do whatever they wished. He didn't have it in him to care anymore. Sylvain always agreed, because at least he wasn't alone, and bruises or worse reminded him he's still technically alive. 

If Felix knew, he'd be furious. Not out of jealousy or anything, but something much worse, _concern._ Sylvain never cared what became of himself or how far he could be pushed before he broke. Someone had to worry about him, and as Sylvain couldn't bring himself to care, Felix claimed the task for himself. The really sad thing was that Sylvain hadn't even realized that he could say no to people when they asked him to do things. Talk of safe words between he and Felix years ago was a disastrous experience that ended with Sylvain pretending he knew they existed. He was caught when Felix asked him to explain them, a smirk on his face but sadness in his voice, like he knew Sylvain was lying but didn't wish to say it aloud. A wink and smile too brittle to be believed failed to sell his lie, but Felix didn't call him on it. He never called Sylvain out for these things, sometimes fucking your best friend has, or rather had, benefits.

Whenever Sylvain thought of Felix he felt all sorts of confused. The things he can't say or think of without risk of tearing himself apart haunt him all hours of the day. Whenever he felt like he's drowning he would visit Mercedes, she always knew when he needed a little friendly companionship. Cookies and stories, making the day dwindle far into the night before they part promising to catch up soon. She's so busy now, helping Manuela run the infirmary, it's gotten harder for her to slip away. It's easier to lie and say he's alright than force her to leave patients that have actual problems. 

Leaving Mercedes' room, Sylvain couldn't stop himself from following a wave of dirty blonde hair, long after he realizes it's not his friend before him. The man before him stops inside of a pub in the nearby town, Sylvain didn't recall wandering this far from Garreg Mach, but the brownies Mercedes left on her dresser might have something to do with his loss of awareness. He enters the pub, acquires a drink and ensures it never leaves his hand. Slyvain didn't know if he actually paid for any of his refills, or if they're gifts with an expectation he had no desire to fulfill. Hours pass before he sees the man with dirty blond hair again. _It's in a ponytail now and that's really unfair._ Sylvain is lonely with a need he's too afraid to put into words, so he follows. 

As expected the pair crash into Jeritza's rooms in the knights hall, a mess of limbs and teeth. Sylvain wanted to feel something, anything at all; a serial killer breaking him in half seemed like the best place to start. A knife appeared, and then things went terribly awry. Sylvain floats far away from himself and horrified apologies bring him forcefully back to the present. He always liked knives, but Felix cutting him out of his clothes and a damn near stranger making curling spirals down his leg are two different phenomenons. He pulls aways, careful of the blade.

"I-I have to go now. This was something, maybe we can try this again sometime."

Sylvain grabbed his pants and threw on a jacket, fleeing into the night. In the long list of mistakes he's made to avoid spending a night alone with his thoughts, this fell somewhere in the top three. He had to go, far, far away where no one could find him. Someplace quiet, where he could hyperventilate and hopefully black out before the nightmares started again. 

_Too late._ He was conscious and still they came crashing over him in waves. He went too far and now he had to pay for it. Ghostly fingerprints caressing his skin as whispers, too many voices to determine their identities, told him _'what a good boy he was'._ His parents were laughing, always laughing, unless they called him a whore. It wasn't his fault he wanted to cry out; they did this to him, it was their friends. He never uttered his cries aloud when it counted, he certainly wasn't going to yell out into the night like a madman now. When he could hear Miklan's heavy breath behind him, the horror of what was too come took the last shred of consciousness he had left.

Sylvain fell to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for spending some of your time with me! Any comments or suggestions are welcomed wholeheartedly. I have the next two chapters written, they're presently being edited. Chapter 5 is in the early drafting stage. My goal is to remain at least two chapters ahead to ensure I don't get delayed. Assume chapter 3 will drop next Friday, unless I manage to finish 5 early. I'm unsure if this week is the beginning of a new pattern or a fluke, so I make no promises.


	3. Seeking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's my birthday fun fact!  
> Hope you have fun, this chapter is from Felix's pov. I have to say I'm rather fond of his head, we'll definitely circle back before this tale is through.

Felix was going to kill Sylvain. 

He had to, after what Sylvain did. After the funeral, his closest, possibly only, friends believed he was dead. _A fucking funeral!_ Had he and Ingrid not patrolled near the border and heard tales of a dashing duo righting wrongs throughout the Imperial countryside, they likely would have continued to believe that Sylvain was no longer living. _The bastard was alive and well._ Felix knew crossing blades on the battlefield at a later date, unaware of the truth, would have destroyed him.

Felix should have worried for Mercedes too, but she was so resourceful, and actually wanted to be alive. He couldn't dedicate any of his emotions towards her well-being. _Flames_ , had he told her that, she probably would have agreed. She would have scolded him afterwards for throwing a villager through a door looking for answers. He wouldn't tell her that had happened of course, but she'd still know. _She always knew._ Felix was convinced she's omnipotent. As nothing to the contrary has been presented to him yet, the delusional thought perseveres. Ingrid had pried him off the aforementioned villager just to clarify. Answers in tow, the two set off for Garreg Mach, to find one friend and flee another. 

Even if he couldn't admit it to himself, Sylvain was brave and astute, seeing a lost cause and making the hard choices before anyone else even considered the possibility they existed. Felix and Ingrid follow, as they always do. They're two months behind, but on the back of a pegasus the distance felt significantly lessened. Felix did wonder how long it would take Dimitri to notice all of his friends had abandoned him, but such thoughts were always set aside after a moment or two. He and Ingrid had committed to a new course and must stick to it. Dedue could sort out the rest.

Ingrid didn't shed a tear or lament for the losses they suffered. Ever a knight, once she admitted to herself how far Dimitri had fallen, her mind couldn't be changed. Felix was grateful he didn't have to travel alone. Edelgard never would have trusted that he came in peace, _and Sylvain._ Felix doubted Sylvain would acknowledge he existed right now, so logically he couldn't be counted on as a character witness at the inevitable execution. 

It was stupid. He should've kept his mouth shut. He knew Sylvain was still awake. Drowsy enough not to stir or flee, or so Felix thought. Perhaps if he’d kept his feelings in check for yet another night, Sylvain would have thought to ask him to join or at least shared his plans to flee. Felix would have gone without question; he knew the Kingdom was a lost cause. As their travel continued, Felix grew to feel less melancholy, his sentiments slowly turning into a homicidal rage. If Sylvain could flee so easily, so readily into the night, he had intended to go the whole time. He said nothing, because he never said _anything_ that meant something. Sylvain was going to leave Felix alone with the Boar and Ingrid to fend for himself. _It wasn't fair,_ he thought, and then crushed that past the deepest recesses of his heart, refusing to acknowledge it.

What happened to the youthful promise that they'd die together? The exceptionally romantic undertones of such grand declarations were lost on them at that age, but for Felix they still held dear. They would spend whatever time they could carve away together and die on the same day. Or they would have, if Sylvain wasn't so determined to die by himself in a ditch or something equally unrefined to piss off his parents; or now, at Felix's hands. He was irrationally upset, and Ingrid, who was so used to these sudden changes from affection to rage, said nothing. She assumed he'd sort things out before they finally landed on the monastery grounds. Felix didn’t bother to tell her she was wrong _._ He still couldn't decide what he wanted to do, although his most recent suggestion that the two of them gang up on him from opposite directions and trap him from escaping if he tried to run did get a laugh.

Ingrid's stolen pegasus landed within the monastery grounds in the chilly early morning. Frost was decorated with regalia, also stolen, in the Adrestian Empire’s colors with its crest on one side. By the time the guards realized they shouldn't be expecting new arrivals, the pair was on their way to locating the missing, illusive, _asshole_ Sylvain. 

Felix set his feet on solid ground, eyes closed he breathed deep. He didn't consider a place home, but there was something about Garreg Mach that had always filled him with hope. Ingrid's smile, eyes alight with wonder indicated she felt the same. Sylvain was here, somewhere on the grounds. Hopefully _alone,_ Felix thinks. Felix didn't know what he planned to do just yet, thinking on his feet so often worked in his favor, it'd have to do. Flipping his cloak's hood up, he hissed "In…"

Ingrid, returning to the present from the rosy recollections of youth, did the same. They weren't wanted here. They were Dimitri's elite team, sent to solve problems larger groups could not; their situation was precarious. They were known enemies. Who would believe they fled the capital for friendship of all fucking things? Ingrid. People might believe her need to do the right thing, but Felix didn't have such a soft heart. He was a weapon, a tool thrown at problems with minimal complaining. _Shit, it's good Ingrid's here._ Felix's indifferent about dying, it's an inevitability of existence, but he still needed to yell at Sylvain before he passed into the bleak beyond.

Walking with purpose, the pair avoided open spaces and rooms where staff were readying the monastery, turned fort for the day. Their collective time on campus and hatred of crowds made blending in easier than it should have been. If they had felt less confident in their abilities, it could have been a trap. Sylvain was nowhere in sight. The lack of grumbling or screamed expletives meant he was most likely alone, Felix couldn't stop himself from smirking at that.

Rounding a corner out of the garden paths, Felix froze. An irritated Ingrid crashed into his back. A shock of red hair against pale skin stared back at him. Laying in the middle of the road, curled in a ball, but alive. Felix swallowed roughly as he approached, taking account of Sylvain's condition as he moved closer. Missing shoes and a shirt, Sylvain had obviously fled whatever tryst he had gotten himself into in quite a hurry, only to lose momentum on the journey back to whatever rooms he's been allocated. Bruises and cuts, little scrapes covered his stomach and the flashes of his back revealed as the wind blew his coat to and fro.

 _Sylvain, what are you punishing yourself for?_ Felix swallowed back his pity, eyes snapping shut in shame, of course he knew why Sylvain was a mess. Felix had toed the line of change; when Sylvain finally came to, too many obstacles prevented him from apologizing in person. Felix never should have said anything, he knew that, and yet the words fell out of his mouth without his permission. If he was not himself, and Sylvain was the fairytale prince he appeared in their youth, that moment would have ended with a declaration in turn and a happy ending. The thought was as ludicrous now as it was in the anxiety-ridden moments after they were first uttered aloud. Happy endings didn't exist, especially for the blood-soaked and broken.

Ingrid approached slowly, eyes on their surroundings for enemy soldiers. Felix crouched to the ground, fingers brushing over Sylvain's pulse. He was alive, thank Seiros. Next thing Felix knew, he was on the ground, Sylvain above him with his arm at his throat. He stared at his friend in a blind rage for a moment before his gaze slowly cleared, turning into one of horror. Ingrid made a strangled noise, reaching out a steadying hand as Sylvain fell backwards, shaking.

The rambling of the mad escaped Sylvain’s lips, "Ghosts are never this solid. Is this what Dimitri goes through? Have to go, have to go right now. Too much too soon…"

Felix couldn't stop his eyes from widening as Sylvain attempted to stand and immediately dropped back to the ground, blood seeping through his pant leg. Ingrid flew forward to catch him, an _"Oh Sylvain"_ escaping her lips as she hooked her arms under his. Felix rose and grabbed his legs, forced to stare at Sylvain's panicked face as they set off to find a healer. Whatever confrontation the three needed to have could wait until lucidity graced Sylvain's countenance once more.

Felix sighed. Ingrid wasn't prepared for Sylvain to behave like this. She expected a mess, not _a mess_. Felix couldn't fault her shock, she had just fled one madman and clearly feared she had replaced him with another. The three were damn near inseparable, but even friendship had its limits.

Felix spoke before Ingrid could do something she'd regret: "Sylvain, where's Mercedes? You need help, and whatever this is goes beyond my skill set."

Eyes wide, the terror returned, "No! No not Mercedes, someone else, anyone else! I can make it to Linhardt's room. Why can't I walk to Linhardt?"

Felix frowned, Ingrid gasped. Sylvain didn't realize they were there, deliriously believing he could walk in this state. Worse, that he _was_ walking. Well, if Sylvain wanted Linhardt's help, not that he was likely to give it, Felix would take him there. Perks of laziness, his room was on the ground floor; Felix didn't trust that Sylvain would handle being carried up a set of stairs positively.

"Come on, In,” Felix says as Ingrid looks at him, concern on her face. “He wants Linhardt. That's not too far. Besides, we haven’t a clue where Mercedes even is"

"Okay...that's probably for the best. I think Sylvain might have hit his head. He's acting like he has a concussion."

He wasn't, but if that little lie helped Ingrid cope, Felix could curb his tongue. It was slow going. Sylvain would fidget and move, distracted by the sounds and rising light. Garreg Mach was waking up, and he didn't realize he wasn't in control of his movements. _When did Sylvain get so heavy?_ He wasn't even wearing armor, dead weight in two pairs of exhausted arms. Felix began counting the steps to Linhardt's door, a pathetic weakness he should be able to overcome. _What was the point of fighting day in and day out if he couldn't carry a semiconscious person across campus?_

They reached the door, breathing heavily. It was fucking pathetic. He shouldn't need to rest, training was supposed to cut the wasted time to pieces. As gracefully as he could, and far kinder than Sylvain deserved, Felix set his feet on the ground. Standing again, arms wide, he caught Sylvain's bulk as Ingrid pushed him forward. On instinct Sylvain embraced him, nose pressed in Felix's hair. If it wasn't so pitiful, he might have smiled, or worse, blushed at the affair. Ingrid's "arghhh" as she kicked down Linhardt's door interrupted him from his thoughts. _Well, that was one way to ask for assistance._

Felix carefully maneuvered Sylvain into Lindhardt's rooms, half dragging, half carrying the man. Hopefully, Lindhardt was sleeping and didn't have anything important to do, because he wasn't going to have the opportunity to leave until Sylvain was fixed. Ingrid was whisper-yelling at Linhardt as the pair finally made it inside. Felix sighed at the sight of the door, it couldn't be salvaged in this state. Linhardt didn't need a door to sleep, but it's still rude.

"Ugh fine, if you'll let me sleep the rest of the day I'll help, Ingrid. And _Felix?_ That's new…"

"If Edelgard doesn't kill me first, I'll do whatever meaningless chores you've been assigned. Just help Sylvain and don't tell anyone about it."

Felix had made worse deals for Sylvain, and the way to Linhardt's good graces, if your name wasn't Caspar, was to give him more free time to sleep or whatever the fuck he found interesting. Felix didn't particularly care for Linhardt and hadn't bothered to learn these sorts of things when they went to school together.

"Hmmmm….but what do I get if you _do_ die? That isn't a very fair deal Fe-"

Ingrid slapping Linhardt in the face, albeit not hard enough to hurt, cut off whatever haggling he intended to do. "Ow! Fine, if you'll leave me alone after. Oh, and you owe me a new door. I don't particularly care where it comes from."

Ingrid started to laugh, as if she wasn't actively making the situation worse by existing. Collecting herself she said, "Since when do you need a door to sleep?"

"Oh...I don't, but Caspar hates the cold. So, do we have a deal? I get a new door and since I'm sure Byleth won't let Edelgard or Hubert murder you, the rest of my meaningless tasks are yours until I decide you can stop."

"Fine," Felix replied curtly.

"I'll find you a new door," was Ingrid's own sheepish reply. A lifetime of friendship told him that was the closest to an acceptance of guilt that she'd come. It was damn near apologetic.

"Good. With all that racket, someone is bound to realize you're both here. I suggest that _someone_ announce your arrival while I get to work."

The implied someone was Ingrid. People liked her. When she wasn't single-mindedly focused on a task, she rather liked them too. Felix wouldn't have left the room short of a battle, another point in the _'I'm glad Ingrid tagged along'_ scorecard.

"Don't do anything regrettable, Felix."

Regrettable like telling your best friend you love him, when you know he isn't in a place to hear it? Regrettable like fighting your best friend in someone else's room once he gains consciousness? Regrettable like leaving Ingrid alone; forced to find where they, or more realistically he, ran off to? So many answers and replies, Felix didn't know what to say. Ingrid didn't expect him to speak of course, leaving before he had a chance. 

Felix focused on forcing Sylvain to sit on the floor. Every table and chair in Linhardt's room covered in papers and books, the only clean space was his bed. _Beds mean something._ Sylvain would prefer the floor, so the floor was where he went. A slumped over pile of a man bleary-eyed, in the room physically but mentally somewhere else. Felix hoped he visited somewhere pleasant.

Linhardt rose from bed. The sounds of clinking bottles and the mixing of herbs filled the room. Linhardt was silent, allowing the two intruders a moment to just be. Sylvain could sit on his own now, Felix shuffled in front of him, landing on the floor cross-legged. Close enough to touch or catch Sylvain should he need to, but otherwise apart. Sylvain wasn't alright and Felix knew him, down to his soul, it was better to sit a hairsbreadth apart. He had gone through enough. The two sat in silence, listening to the sounds of Linhardt making a healing tonic of some kind or tea from the smell. If the only thing he offered Sylvain was tea, Felix was prepared to hit him too.

The quiet moment was interrupted by Sylvain flinging himself forward, into Felix's hesitant arms. Mumbling against Felix's neck, "Usually you've left by now. This is nice. _"_

Felix could be kind, damn near soft even, if he felt so inclined. A lucid Sylvain would never say such things. Indulging in the sentimentality, Felix replied only to trail off into silence, "Well, by now, you usually don't have need of me anymore, so..."

There were words he could say, words he should say as well, but Sylvain was in no state to hear them.

"S'not true. I always need you...maybe Dimitri's right, ghosts are better." 

"Then tell me what happened." Felix is eternally grateful for Linhardt’s either genuine or pretended disinterest at their conversation.

"Ok...but promise you won't yell at me. Enough people yell at me, I don't need it from my own mind too."

Felix sighed, but agreed. Drawing back, Sylvain smiled; it didn't reach his unseeing eyes, but maybe that was for the best. Felix hated to see Sylvain so distressed; and were he cognizant of his actions, Sylvain would share the sentiment. It was an unspoken agreement between the pair to care in silence, words uttered aloud had meaning. They were real. Neither knew how to deal with real things, their emotionally stunted northern upbringings ensured that. To see Sylvain like this, so genuinely distressed, was unnerving to say the least. It's as if two characters shared the same stage vying for the lead role. _Dorothea would be proud of that analogy._ Felix was always grateful when something genuine was bestowed upon him, but not like this. Never like this. Gifts shouldn't leave the taste of guilt upon his tongue.

Sylvain's soft voice drew Felix from his thoughts. His smile had dwindled in size, more closely resembling a genuine expression. Speaking as if there was no one else in the room, "You know me Felix...I'm always a fan of knives cutting me out of my clothes. When an attractive person asks if I was interested in knife play, of course I say yes...turns out we have different definitions... _haha_."

The laugh rang hollow, pained. Felix couldn't stop the dusting of pink the coated his cheeks. If he needed proof Sylvain didn't know where he was, this was it. A choking sound stemmed from Linhardt's general direction. He wasn't disinterested after all, a problem to deal with at a later time. Felix frowned, there was something he was missing from this encounter. It was hardly the first time Sylvain agreed to something he wasn't comfortable with. The cavernous dark circles below his eyes suggested a lack of sleep, but even that couldn't explain.

Whispering now, Sylvain spoke again, frightened, "I heard him Fe. _I heard him_...you promised he was gone, but he's in my head! I could _feel_ things..."

Felix’s blood ran cold. Miklan's might and reign of terror yet lived, as his corpse rot in the earth unmarked. Spring approached, without sleep and reassurances he was alright given to calm his mind, Sylvain returned to the horrors of his youth. Every year without fail, memories wrecked a path through his well-being. Felix was a horrible friend, he should have known. He should have gotten here sooner.

Felix gave the only condolence he could offer, "He's dead Syl. Remember we killed him? Together _,_ just like we promised, he's gone now."

Sylvain's brow furrowed as he fought off tears, he spoke breathlessly, "Promise?" 

Felix nodded, words were never his forte. Carefully, he moved his hand to overlap Sylvain's own. Sylvain closed his eyes and fell onto the ground, a soft, "Okay," his last utterance before being returned to unconsciousness.

Silence. Felix could hear his heart beating in his chest. Linhardt had finished his task, hopefully unaware of what had transpired, but the odds were too slim to truly hope for. Walking over, he offered Felix a cup of tea. The calming scent of pine washed over him. An unexpected kindness for an intruder. An expensive gift too, this kind of tea wasn't supposed to leave Kingdom territory.

"It's good you're both here. Sylvain is a mess," Linhardt yawned before continuing, "or more of a mess than usual, anyway."

Felix waited for callous remarks or mockery, years spent waiting for the inevitable unveiling of truth. Their truth. The words never came. Linhardt returned to his work, mixing and measuring. The scent of tea enveloped the room. Felix drank, a piece of his homeland yet untainted consumed deep within enemy territory. His Father would be furious. _Good._ Sylvain slept on, breathing softly. Felix smiled. Returning to the pair, Linhardt held his own cup of tea. With more grace than expected he too sat on the ground, not a drop spilled.

Linhardt slowly breathed in the aroma and drank. The nervous agitation at being seen started to creep along Felix's neck. Ghostly fingers, so close to his own Father's, ready to choke the last semblance of hope from his person. Glancing, eyes still crusted with sleep, Linhardt spoke: "I won't say anything, it's none of my business. We all keep secrets."

Felix took a deep breath, the hold around his throat loosening. Linhardt set his cup on the ground, pushing bedraggled hair out of his face, he began to observe the growing bloodstain on Sylvain's leg. He ignored the scrapes and bruises. Felix could have told him they were commonplace occurrences, but Linhardt's complete lack of interest suggested he knew. Somehow that was worse.

Felix couldn't stop himself from asking, "How long have you been patching him up?"

"Hmmm... I honestly don't know. It's probably related to Mercedes' lack of free time or some form of personal shame, maybe even a combination of the two. Helping Sylvain when he's like this is practically charity work, but he still does the tasks Hubert and Byleth attempt to bestow upon me. So we're even, I suppose?"

"I see." Felix sighed before continuing, "Well, thank you."

"I'd say it's no problem, but that implies this will happen again. I try to avoid summoning more work for myself, so I won't."

"Ha, fair enough."

Assessment over, Linhardt hovers his hands over Sylvain's leg, a white healing light escapes them. Felix didn't recognize the sigil, the medical arts were not where his talents shined, so this wasn't exactly a surprise. Yawning, Linhardt rose, leaving his half empty cup on the floor. He began to walk towards his bed, finished with his task, sleep awaited him. Casting a final glance around the room, Felix realized he had no idea where he could place their dirty dishes. Electing to follow Linhardt's lead he left them on the floor. _It's not like there's room anywhere else._

Light metallic footsteps announced another's approach. Felix grabbed his sword, rising to his knees in preparation for what was to come. Ingrid, face red and panting, let him return to his vigil ensuring Sylvain rested freely. 

Ingrid cleared her throat to regain Felix's attention, "The war council wishes to speak with us. Come on, we have to get Sylvain back to his room before he wakes up. Let him sleep whatever _this_ is off, we can confront him later."

"Look at you, are you sure you can help carry Sylvain upstairs?"

"Fuck off."

Felix smirked as Ingrid grabbed Sylvain's feet. The look of smug determination on her face was endearing. Carefully, to avoid waking him, Felix stood, Sylvain's torso in tow. Eyes rolled as Ingrid grimaced at the remainder of the bedroom door. She really was something. Something terrifying, but ideal to stand beside. If he was going to walk to his imminent death, at least he wasn't alone. Another point for Ingrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pinky promise next chapter is lighter! It's still an angst-fest, but a tone shift does occur. Feel free to drop any comments or suggestions you may have. Thanks for spending some time with me!


	4. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get sappy! I think these boys deserve a moment to be, even if it's brief, before we get into the trenches of war.

Sylvain awoke to the scent of pine. Calming and familiar, he breathed deep, hoping the moment would last. The tea bags he stuffed into his pillow cases needed to be replaced. As the latest supply run was delayed yet again, this shouldn't be happening. If Hubert wasn't so agitated by the delay, Sylvain would have said something to him days ago.

Attempting to roll onto his side, groaning when the sun shines into his eyes, Sylvain realized something even more odd: he was tucked in. The vague recollections of ghosts and Linhardt's touch and other things he had forcibly set aside danced across his mind. Did Linhardt tuck him in? Goddess, definitely not. Whenever he dragged Sylvain's corpse-like body to his room, he was dropped haphazardly on top of his bed, or the floor if he was a truly unruly patient. Someone who smelled like pine needles and cared enough to see he slept comfortably returned him to his room.

Realization dawned upon him, and Sylvain flung himself up in horror. _Felix was here_. Felix found him in some kind of vile, unforgivable state and still chose to be kind. Another moment to add to the never-ending list of small kindnesses Felix bestowed upon him. A glass of water and crust of bread sat beside him. Sylvain wanted to cry. 

He couldn't face Felix like this, or ever again really. That was his plan, to escape and give his friends a chance at a better life. Edelgard was coming around to his badgering requests that Felix and Ingrid be allowed to live should they cross swords on the battlefield; they were doing the only thing they could after all. There were so few choices in the cold north. Survival was all that mattered. _Ingrid._ Sylvain recalled a moment late into the night where she had him by the arms. Fuck. She was here, too.

Sylvain brought his hands to his head and cried. They risked so much; but they weren't alone. they were safe. His shoulders shook as sobs overcame him, a sorrow deeper than the Professor's favorite fishing pond needed to be emptied from within. Everything Sylvain feared had come to pass without casualty. As long as the pair came in peace...which they must have if Ingrid tagged along, they yet lived. Sylvain refused to believe they came for him, he was unworthy of such devotion. Drying his damp face with sweat stained sheets, Sylvain sighed, grateful his final nightmares were left unrecalled. Rising, Sylvain saw a note and dropped to his knees as he read:

> _You're an asshole, who's very hard to find. -F_
> 
> _That's not very nice, we are incredibly relieved to find you unharmed Sylvain. Speak soon! -In_

They came for him. Sylvain couldn't believe it. They risked everything for him. What had he done to deserve this? It's an impossibility, they were better off without him. This made absolutely no sense, surely they knew the truth so obvious to Sylvain himself. He didn't deserve their friendship. They shouldn't have come here. Guilt gnawed at his insides, preventing him from finding joy at this new development. 

_What have you done?_

Leaving was supposed to make things better, not worse. Never worse. Hiding in his room was cowardly; he had to act, to apologize for all he had done. Drying his face on the mattress this time, Sylvain rose again. He had to see Felix and Ingrid face to face. He needed to see their disappointment in person. It was the only way he could force himself to atone. Years of cruelty and manipulation, of ignoring them to chase a pretty face, for leaving them with Dimitri. All of this was heinous, horrid and utterly his fault. They deserved better than him, and yet they ventured all the way here for him, so there must be a reason. 

Sylvain began to scour his dresser for his nicest clothes. He had to look put together, lying through his teeth that he was ok. He couldn't stomach the thought of either worrying about him more than they apparently had already. Most of the garments within said wardrobe were left from his school days. Fleeing Garreg Mach after Edelgard's coup didn't allot time for packing. They were far too small to fit his bulk, five years of combat had filled out his form, solid as a tree. Grabbing a pair of blue pants taken from Fhirdiad, a gift from Ingrid, and a dress shirt left by someone he's already forgotten, Sylvain headed towards the bathhouse. He had filth, of the mind and body alike, to wash from his body. He could do this. He could lie through his teeth, bat his eyes and pretend everything was alright. _All lies start with a kernel of truth,_ he was alive so that had to count.

***

Finally clean, Sylvain returned to his room. He was curious to see if his friends had returned to the premises in his absence. As they were not within his vicinity, he stuffed their note in his pocket and sent out on a quest to locate them. _Felix and Ingrid were around here somewhere._

A quick scan of the second floor gave no indication of their whereabouts either. He knew they wouldn't be in their old rooms, the monastery was filled to the brim with rotating soldiers and tacticians. Their rooms were taken years ago. Sylvain's lascivious inclinations and rumors of disease, utterly unfounded of course jealous people were often cruel, left his own room unattended. If he truly believed in the Goddess he'd think it was fated he'd return to his old haunt.

Wandering Garreg Mach well after noon, the fortress was in full swing. People were running amuck completing orders and ensuring the war effort continued on. Everyone beamed with pride as exhaustion wracked their bodies. They were here willingly, wholly believing in the cause. Sylvain plastered on a smile, he directed at every person he crossed paths with. Offering quick greetings to those he recognized and simple _'hellos'_ to those he did not. The chaos was controlled, peaceful even; so different for the quiet steps and fearful refrains of Fhirdiad. 

As he always did when thinking of home, Sylvain sent a hopeful thought out into the universe for Dimitri's recovery and for the safety of his friends. He never hoped for a speedy end to the war, fearful of what fresh horror would arise to take the Church's place. Seeing first hand how horrid life was for everyone in Fódlan convinced him other players were waiting in the wings to join the great game. Rhea and her cohorts alone could not have caused all that rot within the land, as easy as such a conclusion would be to draw. Sylvain held his tongue when others voiced this belief, he knew they needed to focus on the present not eighteen steps ahead. 

His occasional eye roll at tactical meetings as others spoke of the peace on the horizon had drawn Edelgard and Hubert's attention. He wasn't completely discreet with his realization there was more at play than the skirmishes of today. They didn't draw attention to this realization either, a quiet understanding passed between them. There were plans on the outskirts of the war effort for something horrible, or close to it if so many trusted allies seemed unaware of their existence. Sylvain quietly longed to be in the room where these talks occurred, hoping whatever actions they wrought would prevent others from enduring what he and and his friends were groomed for, the subtle cruelties and abuse written off as necessity for the benefit of the land.

Perhaps one day they'd speak of strategy with him? Or better yet allow him to play a part in the somber affair. Not that he'd admit it, but Dimitri often succeeded on the battlefield at Sylvain's joking probes and lighthearted suggestions. Felix and Ingrid were always too blunt with their own to be acknowledged. Dimitri required a softer touch, gentle prodding and manipulation succeeded in the state of madness he so often succumbed to. Dedue, Ashe, and Annette have their work cut out for them. Sylvain wished them well; he hoped they found slivers of happiness wherever they could.

Thoughts of his long departed friends always crossed his mind when he visited the gardens. The three were so proud of their gardening club. Their classmates didn't understand how miraculous it was to see something grow at all. They didn't leave the starving, frozen north. They couldn't possibly understand the hope that coursed through his friends, the determination that they could take what they learned back with them. Combat was all well and good, but it didn't keep the peasant population fed. Thoughts of battle returned Sylvain's focus to his other, closer friends. Felix and Ingrid were not hiding amongst the greenery; he had ruminated enough already, his quest needed to continue. 

Stomach growlings determined his next location, Sylvain couldn't remember the last time he ate. A frightening sentiment to have, indicative of how far his mental state had unfortunately declined. He began to count back the days to his last tea party with Mercedes and Byleth, grimacing as the number rose ever higher. Deciding to make a positive lifestyle choice, he ran up the stairs two at a time. It was near enough to noon that some lunch fare was likely to remain. He wasn't picky, as long as his family cheese was nowhere in sight he'd be content. Any association with his relatives sent a rushing wave of hate and guilt his way, ruining what little appetite he could muster.

Entering the dining hall, Sylvain gave a precursory glance around the room. Small groups were talking or eating together, finding time for companionship and joy in the face of a long and bloody war. Sylvain was jealous of the ease with which they laughed and smiled, he had forgotten how to smile without artifice. Stragglers and those with duties to attend to were gathering their things to leave. Lunchtime was dwindling down, several plates were still on display, from his location by the doors Sylvain couldn't discern their contents. With a sigh and a smile that showed too many teeth to mean anything real, he walked into the hall.

_"YOU BASTARD!"_

Sylvain flinched, eyes wide he turned towards a voice he'd know in death's grip. From Felix's furious tone, there was a strong possibility death would come sooner rather than later. Raising his arms in surrender Sylvain looked sheepishly at his best friend. A friend he left so cruelly, a friend who still risked everything to see him again... _or to kill him in person._ When Felix was this angry anything was possible.

With a nervous laugh Sylvain replied, "Hey Felix, fancy meeting you here."

The grimace plastered on his face did nothing to sell his ease. Aiming for a light-hearted greeting was clearly the wrong call, tables separated the pair but Sylvain could see the flames in Felix's eyes. Awkward coughs and scuffling sounds filled the silence as the hall's other inhabitants debated if fleeing was safe. Deciding to act, Felix started to run, clearing a table in a single bound. His arms pumped violently in front of him, as he drew near.

Turning while begging the universe that he wouldn't trip, Sylvain ran out of the hall. He ran up this flight of stairs in pairs, but he flew down them in sets of threes. _Shit. Fuck. This wasn't the plan._ Sylvain didn't actually have a plan for how he'd apologize, but a foolish part of his mind hoped he wouldn't meet such violent rage upon their reunion. He deserved worse than this, Sylvain knew that deep in his soul, but it still hurt to see. Nearing the bottom of the steps, Sylvain gripped the edge of a banister and swung around. 

At this time of day, the night shifts were heading to bed as the afternoon coverage readied themselves for the day. With two or three people sharing a room, if he could make it to the crowds that always surrounded the first floor, he might just lose Felix. If they could separate for a few hours, Felix might calm down; if Ingrid could be found during that gap she might be willing to assuage the situation. _Doubtful._ But a chance was better than the raging inevitability of death behind him. Sylvain could hear whispered threats as Felix gave chase. Felix was frighteningly fast, had Edelgard not forced all of her knights to run laps in their suits of armor, he didn't doubt Felix would have caught him by now.

Bodies ebbing and flowing did little to halt Felix's charge, much to Sylvain's displeasure. Such a great idea in theory, but like so many of his ideas as of late it failed utterly. Few people liked Sylvain, so he wasn't surprised when they willingly jumped out of Felix's way as he ordered them to move. _New plan, reach the gates; Anna doesn't completely hate me._

If he could get to the gates, he could make a break for it. Garreg Mach didn't need to be sullied by his blood, and a sappy inner wish hoped he could die surrounded by the wildflowers so recently in bloom. Sylvain missed flowers, they couldn't survive in Faerghus' rocky soil. A forbidden thought of romance crossed his mind as he rounded the training grounds. He didn't deserve such a death, but Sylvain was selfish. He wanted a pretty end. Something artists would paint as poets lamented, they wouldn't know the truth but a pretty lie was always better than his ugly truth.

Anna's pink hair was easy to spot in the crowds of dull browns and dust covered blondes. Throwing a mad wave high into the air, he hoped she caught his signal. This was what they trained for. A dead Sylvain wasn't useful to the cause, and Edelgard was quite adamant that Hubert would have full rein to do _whatever_ he needed to his corpse, to ensure that Sylvain did not fall among the deceased. Necromancy was a small field among those who played with dark magic, and the risks would be irrelevant in Hubert's eyes if partaking achieved Edelgard's demands. 

This failsafe was designed with scorned lovers in mind, not Felix, but it would have to do. Sylvain doubted it would work, but he was confident Felix and Ingrid would keep his corpse safe from Hubert's curiosity, so a small victory would come from this no matter the outcome. His message was received, Anna cleared a path, a very small path, to the gate. Whistling for his attention, she shouted, "Good luck S! You're gonna need it!" 

_That's helpful_ , Sylvain thought rolling his eyes as he crossed the threshold between the monastery and the world beyond. He could hear Felix's heavy breath behind him, it was apparent the travel he had just partaken was more exhausting than anticipated. The death threats had finally ended, the air used to speak would be wasted. Swallowing bile, Sylvain continued to run. His legs burned and his lungs fought for air. He rode horses for a reason, prolonged sprinting wasn't exactly his budding talent. Linhardt was a fucking wizard though, the only aches and pains were from his present exhertion, nothing unfortunate and residual impacted his attempts to flee. 

_One more hill, just a little bit more._ Sylvain could smell the flowers, their scent dancing on the wind as petals were scattered about. He laughed, then coughed, as Felix choked on the aforementioned petals. He and Ingrid didn't see the field of untainted beauty on their way to the monastery. Sylvain hoped they made him smile. Felix would never claim to care for such trivialities, but a brief moment of beauty made the horrors of war hold firm out of thought and mind. The corners of Sylvain's vision began to grow dark as the field neared, a few more meters. He was so close.

Felix tore Sylvain from his thoughts, finally close enough to touch. He tackled Sylvain. The pair spung, a flailing mess of exhausted limbs. Landing on his back, Sylvain glanced up at Felix's face. He was heavily breathing, eyes furrowed with rage, cheeks flushed. The faintest droplets of sweat freckled his face. _Goddess, he's beautiful_. Sylvain flushed as he glanced down at his location between Felix's legs. The scent of honeysuckle and sweat filled the air. _As far as deaths go, this was pretty great._ The lack of dagger or blade was new, but Sylvain couldn't fault Felix for electing to use his bare hands. _It's more personal this way, that's nice._

Sylvain continued to stare, determined for such a stunning sight to be his last. He waited and waited, but death never came. Two exhausted bodies breathing as one surrounded by flowers, they must make quite the sight. Falling slightly forward, Felix placed shaking hands on Sylvain's chest, they slid towards his throat. _This is it._ Settling over his pulse point, Felix waited, lips moving unaware as he counted. The corner of his mouth rose as he came to an unknown realization, sliding off Sylvain, Felix landed on the ground. 

Sylvain caught his leg and held it against his chest. This was too strange, he feared it was all a dream. Felix would move away and wouldn't return. Sylvain would be alone again. Holding the limb like a lifeline, he couldn't lie and say his own hands didn't tremble. This was too much to hope for. It was too nice for the likes of him, and yet it happened nonetheless.

Whispering softly, Felix spoke, proving he was a living person and not a figment of Sylvain's imagination: "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Me too…"

"Good."

"Really?"

"If I traveled all the way here and found you trying to jump off a roof...I don't know what I'd do."

Sylvain rolled to his side. He needed to see Felix, to stare into his golden eyes, to know everything could be alright again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in shame. Felix deserved better.

 _"Don't,"_ Felix's face caved in, eyes shut tight.

"I'll be better," Sylvain promised himself he would spend the rest of his days ensuring he never caused Felix such sorrow again.

Eyes cracked open as Felix replied, "You don't have to be something else. Just be, try to live…" he dragged off into silence, his _'please'_ implied.

Feeling brave in the face of Felix's vulnerability, Sylvain pulled him forward into a tender, if slightly awkward, embrace. Tucking him under his head, Sylvain sighed. _This was nice_. Felix's arms hesitantly rose and settled around him, it was difficult as they laid on the ground, but they managed. Sylvain's eyes began to flutter closed, feeling a sense of calm, for the first time weeks he looked forward to sleep.

As he waited for Sylvain to doze off again, Felix spoke: "I shouldn't have said anything."

Mumbling into silken hair, Sylvain replied, "'m glad y' did, shouldn't've run s'ry".

Felix settled in, burrowing into Sylvain's bulk. Breath slowing, they slept softly. A blanket of flower petals covered them, as the soft rays of sunlight ensured they stayed warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for spending some time with me! 
> 
> Next chapter is from Ingrid's pov! Comments and suggestions are always appreciated. I'm going to do my best to continue to update weekly. I have a rough outline through Ch 7. Work has mandatory overtime right now so I have less time to write, but I'll notify if anything changes.
> 
> Feel free to hmu on Tumblr I'm: manuelacasagrandalovemechallenge & keletania


	5. Observing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid gets to have a turn, enjoy this interlude from a slightly outside perspective. Next week have have a battle!

Things are awkward after the impromptu nap. It takes Ingrid a laughably long time to pluck the stray petals from Felix and Sylvain’s hair. She doesn’t comment on the situation she stumbled upon, when she finally locates her friends. Electing to sow the seeds of decency throughout the monastery, she spreads rumors and offers assurances that this sort of behavior was normal between the pair. 

Anyone who stumbled upon Felix reading Sylvain for filth during their school years could attest to that. Somehow the knowledge that everyone didn’t change with the war made for a more receptive audience for the newest people to defect from the Kingdom. Her boys are utter buffoons incapable of genuine conversation or affection, but they had their merits. She couldn't help but smile as a groggy Sylvain and sputtering Felix attempted to explain themselves. 

Laughing, Ingrid stopped them with soft words fitting of their collective location, “Calm down, you two were never _that_ discrete,” seeing her words had the opposite of her intended effect, she continued on, “I doubt the others noticed anything changed. But it’s me and it’s the two of you. We’re a matched set, you couldn’t hide anything from me if you tried.”

Yawning, Sylvain utters the words Felix seems to fear most from his subtle cringe, “Does that mean Dimitri knows too?”

“Doubtful, he doesn’t know who’s alive and who’s dead anymore. Do you seriously think he has the capacity to recognize subtle differences in behavior?”

Speaking softly, as their time in Fhirdiad was still so near, Felix replied, “If he could, we all would’ve died years ago. Our heads on pikes warning the soldiers and citizens alike what happens if you question his authority.”

“We’d certainly liven the place up. Just imagine it, three knockouts greeting you...or well not _you_ since you would be dead _,”_ Sylvain coughs awkwardly at his perceived misstep.

Ingrid wrinkles her nose in disgust. His attempt at lightening the mood brought a horrifying image to her mind. One that was far too close to their potential reality to have any semblance of levity attached. Felix’s deadpan _“classy”,_ however did the job. The trio fell into a violent bout of laughter. Chests burning, as shoulders shook and tears fell down their faces. Years of terror, long days and longer nights, they earned this small moment of respite. Ingrid falls onto her back, flowers sway to and fro as the last rays of sunlight pierce the pink sky. If this was the last moment she had to live, she wouldn’t mind. Felix and Sylvain follow her down, hands entwining with her own. 

The sunset is almost too beautiful to believe, the burning of the sun matched the flames of affection coursing through her chest. The sensation and company brought tears to her eyes. They made it out of Faerghus physically unharmed, she wasn’t naive enough to claim any of them were mentally well. No one had to die, if they all made it out of this mess of a wa- _revolution_ , she had changed sides after all, there was still hope for a brighter tomorrow. 

It may take days or even years, but somewhere in the future she’d smile at another sunset with her closest friends, _her family_ , and celebrate their eternal union. Perhaps a soft hand would clasp her own, perhaps not, but whatever the years would bring Ingrid knew they would weather the storms and laugh at the heights of it all together. Ingrid didn’t want that future to come too soon, they had too much trauma to process and battles to fight to trust happy ends would stay that way, but still she had hope.

***

Felix and Sylvain were utterly unreasonable, completely unbelievable. Ingrid had half a mind to steal a play from Felix’s book and kill them to end the unbearable torture that was her present existence. Two weeks and they refused to speak about what happened. _Two weeks!_

The soft hope and adoration died once they reached the monastery gates. As if a wall had suddenly appeared between them, they changed: no petty barbs or quick brushes of palms, no soft smiles when they thought no one could see. Ingrid watched as the two people she allowed herself to care returned to their childish behavior. It hurt her soul to see. 

Ingrid, for the life of her couldn’t figure out why they refused to speak to one another, why they refused to _try_. They were south, no one would judge or criticize. Perhaps a joke that someone convinced Sylvain to stick to one body instead of his usual tornado of flesh, would be said from someone who would quickly find themselves at knifepoint, but that was harmless and all in good fun. They were safe here. Flames, the Emperor was openly courting the Professor, while Ferdinand play-acted at being oblivious to Hubert’s painfully crafted attempts at romance. No one here cared. _No one cared._ The faintest dusting of pink coated her cheeks at the thought, as her mind was filled by a soft aria, high notes and chocolate waves flit about within. Shaking her head to clear it, she had enough to deal with without adding her own hopes for love into the mess. Ingrid set off for the war council meeting. 

She wiped her hands on her breeches to rid them of the only nervous tell she had yet to conquer. Whatever the Pro-, no Byleth, needed to discuss was clearly important. This would be the first time she and Felix would be privy to the Empire’s present military strategy. Gruelling days of interpersonal communication selling herself and her friends, who were too inept to try themselves, had paid off. They were going to be given a chance to prove themselves. Sighing, Ingrid thought a resolute _‘finally’._ Perhaps this battle would distract her from the insufferability of her present predicament. 

Felix’s claim of the training grounds was unquestioned upon their return, and Ingrid did her best to assist those who wished to learn how to fly. They needed to feel useful; as Sylvain was sent on unknown missions to nearby towns, he wasn’t able to assist them this quest. Byleth or Hubert summoning him at all hours of the day for things he wouldn’t discuss with either of his friends, no matter how they badgered him. Subtlety was never their strong suit. Battle was where they all shined. No matter how intensely they secretly wished for other skills, at the end of the day Faerghus needed soldiers and that’s what she bred. The only thing the church ever allowed of the frozen wasteland. 

Looking back at it now, Ingrid couldn’t believe how blind she had been. It was obvious now, as she readied herself to rid the church and its corruption from Fódlan that her homeland was kept in such dire straits for a reason. Years of quiet arguments with Sylvain over his perceived conspiracies, and in the end he was right. Ingrid wrinkled her nose at the thought. Any time some brave fool dared to try advancing the backwater ways of the Kingdom, they would be found a heretic or charged with treason; all hopes for progress blew out with their last breath. The forbidden library hidden in the sewers answered too many questions she feared to think, let alone ask. It was so obvious, mocking their misery as she and her friends readied themselves to be sold off in miserable marriages to ensure their crest cursed children continued the cycle of abuse. 

If only the young Emperor dared to speak of her plans, or if Ingrid had listened to those who hid in the monastery’s underbelly, perhaps more would have come to understand. _This war may not have had to happen at all, Dimitri wasn’t always like this_. A terribly melancholy thought to have, as she entered the war room. Shoulders back, head straight like the knight she trained to be. Sylvain had been awarded a seat at the table, Felix was standing behind him. The pair were talking about something mundane and inconsequential, as all their conversations as of late happened to be, when they were able to speak. 

Ingrid glanced at her old schoolmates, professors, and unknown military leaders scattered about the room. People of all walks of life, intermingling to fight for the future where such an occurrence was commonplace. No one appeared to be as nervous as she felt, Ingrid smiled at the sight. This room alone held more progress and hope than anything she ever dared to dream of on her own. 

Walking towards her closest friends, Ingrid gave a quick nod to Byleth who glanced up at her appearance. They looked quite hale; a heartening sign, as she had yet to cross paths with them. When she reached Felix and Sylvain, she gave her best attempt at a group hug. The chair made things difficult, but Sylvain leaned upwards into her embrace. Felix surprisingly didn’t shrink away from her touch, they were all a bit touch starved these days. The small upturn of Sylvain’s mouth as their arms brushed was far too sweet to bear. If Ingrid was someone known for confrontations, she would have cornered the pair in a classroom a week ago. Whatever they shared had taken years to achieve and something caused a strain she was too fearful to ask after, the guilt of ruining their happiness held her tongue in place.

Emperor Edelgard walked into the room, the commanding presence of a leader drawing all eyes towards her. Hubert and Ferdinand followed several respectable steps behind, quietly arguing over something she couldn’t discern. Nothing too serious it appeared, as Hubert pinched his nose in exasperation while Ferdinand laughed and rolled his eyes. The Emperor took her place at Byleth’s side, as her most trusted advisors stood beside them. _How the fuck did Sylvain get a chair?_ Hubert is standing. Ingrid couldn’t stop the thoughts from running through her mind, struggling to connect the pieces of a puzzle with half the shapes at her disposal. That sort of task was always Sylvain’s prerogative, not her own.

Placing her hands in front of her on the table, the Emperor spoke. Her authoritative voice forced all to heed her words, “Good afternoon everyone. I hope you are all well, the days to come will require us to be at our best to succeed.” Casting a slow glance around the room, she continued, “If you have need for anything, be it material or something less tangible in nature please speak with one of my trusted retainers. We will see to it you are taken care of for if I cannot properly ensure my most trusted allies are accounted for, then this mission is already lost.”

Byleth nodded as Hubert gave their thousand yard stare a run for its money, Ferdinand’s genuine smile bore some hope the words the Emperor spoke rang true. Several people around the room said, or Caspar’s instance shouted, words of affirmation at her statement. The people in this room didn’t just believe in the cause, they believed that their Emperor would be the hand that guided them to the victory they sought. No one shrank with fear in the room, even Bernadetta looked giddy with hope. Ingrid gave a small smile of her own at the sight. Felix huffed at the display; Sylvain couldn’t stop himself from softly chuckling in response. Waiting several moments for the racket to die down, Hubert coughed and the last remaining noises vanished. 

Emperor Edelgard began her speech again, “Together, we will win this war and throw off the shackles of corruption the church has forced upon us all.” Another rapid round of cheers followed the statement, at her subtle smile, they too ceased. “The days to come will be treacherous, many of us will cross blades with those we once called friends. I am truly sorry for this inevitability, but I urge you to carry on so we can lead Fódlan to a future where such struggles do not need to occur. If you feel you cannot act or that those beneath your command will not follow their orders, speak up. I am _not_ a tyrant, others will step in to take your place. We all have our own talents and weaknesses. I will see you used for maximum benefit, but I do not wish to cruelly take advantage of your trust in me and our cause.”

 _Eyes_. The room turned towards the northern trio, daring them to speak up. Felix’s wicked glare could be felt, Ingrid didn’t bother to turn towards him to confirm its existence. Her palms began to moisten at the attention, this was expected and still terrible to endure. Sylvain began to laugh raucously at the turn of events. “Hon, don’t look at me, I’ve committed to your cause. No need to worry about little old me...”

Felix whacked the back of his head with a rapid, _“incorrigible”_ , before Hubert had the chance to do something worse for his Lady’s honor. Ingrid snorts with laughter at the exchange It's the closest her friends have appeared to themselves in weeks.

Deciding to once more take up her role as the go between for her friends and those around them, Ingrid speaks: “We all knew the risks when we fled the Kingdom of Faerghus. Fear not, your Majesty! We intend to see your goals to their fruition, however you need us to serve.” Ensuring her friends don’t dare to speak and worsen things, Ingrid gives her most knightly bow, ending their input into this whole affair.

“I would expect no less from those so well versed in the art of combat. I need a team to watch over our camps for an ambush as we press forward on the field. As the three of you know the combat tactics of your homeland better than anyone in this room, I feel that your skills will best be served in this capacity. If our own base falls to enemy hands, whatever ground we gain on the field will be for naught.”

Ingrid was quite proud of herself for keeping her head and shoulders high. She should have known that they wouldn’t be granted a proper task in the battle to come. Their allegiance still needed to be tested. Sylvain didn’t react at all, likely expecting this slight on their collective honor. Felix sighed, clearly displeased, but wise enough to hold his tongue. As no one voiced their disagreement with this decision, the matter was deemed settled and the other assignments were divyed out amongst those in the room. The speech was more than just words, every person and their associated battalions were given tasks that specifically suited their strengths. That was heartening to realize, one day when they proved their worth, perhaps better assignments would be passed their way. 

The discussion of tactics took most of the evening, the room wasn’t dismissed until the moon began her hesitant ascension in the sky. Felix was the first of their trio to leave the room, vanishing before Ingrid and Sylvain could even reach the doors. A glance between the pair came to an unspoken agreement to leave him be. When he was ready, he’d speak to them...or he wouldn’t.

A war was on, there were too many things to do before the march began in a fortnight. Ingrid resigned herself to an utter lack of sleep as she prepared the stables with Marianne for the heavy travel to come. Sylvain continued to be summoned by Hubert and Byleth for things he wouldn’t or perhaps couldn’t speak of. And Felix, Felix was a ghost, only reappearing as the dawn began to rise and battalions formed outside the gates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe out there lovelies!!! And once again, thanks for spending some time with me! 
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on Tumblr at:  
> [ @manuelacasagrandalovemechallenge](manuelacasagrandalovemechallenge.tumblr.com)  
> or my main [@keletania](keletania.tumblr.com%22)
> 
> Comments & suggestions are appreciated. Ingrid and her whole authority thing is fun to write, hope her choice to view 'working' El by her title wasn't too jarring for you.


	6. Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty long chapter to make up for last week's brief interlude. I was nervous to write an intense battle, but my beta bizzybee has given me the ok that it's a fun read. 
> 
> Happy Animal Crossing day!

Bodies were tense on the front line, readying for combat. The officers in their tents waited anxiously for news of who will meet them in the coming dawn. Friends turned foes slain for the cause of a brighter tomorrow. Sylvain grimaced at the thought, he was a traitor; he didn’t have the right to worry for his abandoned friends, not now. He chose a new life, free of crests and the Church’s poison. His previous compatriots elected to stay, the horrors known are often less frightening than the possibility of change. If new better things also sour with the coming of a new day, there really would be nothing left to live for. 

Sylvain didn’t blame them for staying in the tundra he once called home. The kindest of their class still hoped the sun would shine on Fhirdiad and that Dimitri would be sane enough to appreciate it. These days as battle neared a slight wavering in Mercedes’ devotion could be briefly witnessed, if one knew how to look. Days and nights spent tending to bodies wailing for help could place quite the toll on one’s sunny disposition. She took this all in stride with the knowledge they would one day live in a world where her talents could be used elsewhere. Sylvain desperately hoped she would live to see this dream come to fruition. The march towards freedom was lined with the bodies of young and old, common and noble, and those once called friends. 

Clutching his knees to his chest, Sylvain sent a prayer to a Goddess he didn’t know if he believed in, but knew deep down was unworthy of his devotion, that Annie wouldn’t meet them in the morning light. Mercedes would lose what little control she still had over her emotions, and things were still too new for such a risk. Mercedes would run to Annie’s side, there was no way of knowing how she would be received. Would friendship that had the burgeoning possibilities of more supersede a direct command? Sylvain knew he wouldn’t be able to watch if they drew arms against one another. It's cowardly, but the small sliver of hope he allowed himself to hold onto while in Dimitri’s court relied on the two women finding a place together in the new world. 

Sylvain isn't selfish enough to hope such a fate could befall him, but perhaps others burdened with the trappings of nobility could have the lives they deserved. Felix avoiding him like the plague supported this acceptance of a barely there friendship, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, but he refused to take that which isn't freely given. He managed to live this long, he would find a way to continue on. Surely there are people, the characters of Bernadetta’s novels notwithstanding, that learned to carry on apart with the knowledge of how another’s skin felt against their own. How lips could press together and make the world finally feel whole. Perhaps he’d be the first to endure this quiet horror alive. Ingrid would never allow him to do anything else now that he’s under her calculating gaze, he’d have to find a way to live with this. 

Rubbing dry palms over his eyes, Sylvain sighed. He wouldn’t sleep, the look Felix sent his way midway through their march burned onto his eyelids. Full of questions left unasked, of pain barely shielded from prying eyes. Felix claimed they needed to be apart, alone in their old school to determine Goddess knows what. Sylvain was beginning to realize this is just another test, one he had failed spectacularly. Perhaps failing those he needed most was his secret curse, the unique trait that differentiated himself from those he found himself surrounded by.  _ Flames _ , he's damn near desperate enough to turn to Bernie for advice, she always found a way for impossible dreams to flourish in the harshest of circumstances. 

Flinging himself back onto his worn-down cot, one of the few supplies he’s kept from Faerghus that still gives off the aroma of snow and pine, Sylvain groans. This sort of thinking wouldn’t result in anything positive, just less time to playact at sleeping, eyes closed while thoughts race about without his control. With Dorothea’s refusal to share more of her stage makeup to cover his cavernous dark circles, people might begin to realize how far off of his game he truly is. The others in the Strike Force may not say anything about his declining health, not that he was close enough with any of them sans the Professor for them to truly notice, but Sylvain knew he couldn’t trick Felix, Ingrid, and Mercedes simultaneously. His years of practice in this art could only get him so far, with his lack of energy and a growing difficulty at pretending everything's just peachy. He’s going to crumble, and soon. Sylvain begrudgingly closed his eyes, full of trepidation over the fresh horrors his mind had concocted for him tonight.

The sound of running: feet stomping loudly on the campsite paths, a commotion of metal and chaos. Something was afoot, this close to battle it must be truly terrible. Quickly rising from bed, Sylvain finds his boots and laces them as rapidly as his gloved hands will allow. The entirety of the Strike Force had long given up sleeping in anything but their armor, there was too much at risk to do otherwise in the heat of a bloody revolution. Buckling his topmost breastpiece and fetching the damned Lance of Ruin, there wasn’t time to assess what secondary friend should accompany him, Sylvain stepped out of his tent. 

The air is still warm this close to the border, it keeps people moving towards the center of camp. No one risked grabbing additional layers, not here. Glancing discreetly through the crowds, being tall had its advantages afterall, Sylvain searched for his friends. A flash of green and blue with arms rapidly fixing hair for a battle indicated Ingrid and Felix found one another, it stung to see them together without him, their trio dwindling to a duo before his eyes. It was what he once wanted, to keep them safe but now that they all shared the same side once more, Sylvain filled with an allconsuming dread. 

An arm linked with his own, he turned his gaze from his oldest friends to a sleepy but smiling Mercedes. The soft wisps of faith magic wove their way up his arm and over his torso healing scrapes and cuts, little wounds he’s so used to ignoring in the heat of battle and most of his waking hours.  _ He had to be at his best.  _ Mercedes was a strict healer on the field, those who refused to heed her council often found their water spiked with a sleeping aid ensuring she could do what was needed to keep them alive. 

If residents of the capitol feared Dimitri for his waxing and waning claims at sanity, the military feared Mercedes. She took no prisoners and did whatever needed to be done to keep those she cared for safe. Sylvain wouldn’t be surprised if she discussed the theory behind dark magic with Lysithea and Hubert now that they were all allies, looking for a new insight into the medical arts. Offering his other arm Sylvain took her medical bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The smile widened as tension fled her shoulders, he couldn’t blame her the bag is ridiculously heavy, whatever she packed at the Monastery had doubled the contents therewithin.

The soft whispering of words drew Sylvain’s focus once more from the crowd to Mercedes’ face, “I hope we all make it out of this alive. Don’t do anything reckless Sylvain  _ please, _ there are three of you now and only one of me. If An-” a sob overcame her, shoulders once relaxed caved inwards, “If Annie were here we’d be alright. Goddess Sylvain I don't think I can face her.  _ Not like this...” _

Stopping their procession toward the center of camp, Sylvain took Mercedes in his arms, rubbing soothing circles down her back as she sobbed. Whispering into her hairline, she had forgotten Annie’s hat or had intentionally left it behind in her tent: “I won’t make you Mercie, I promise you it won’t come to that. And the Empire took the four of us in, I’m sure they’d welcome Annette with welcome arms. She's loads more useful than me.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

Before Sylvain could stick his foot in his mouth and ask what specifically she didn’t believe, the crowds they were once in the front of had thickened around the pair forcing them forward. It was an awkward scuffle of limbs separating and hopping on one foot to find placement on the quickly filling ground. The entirety of camp is awake now, Sylvain's fears had come to pass, something terrible had occurred. Reaching their goal, the pair began to push their way through the crowds toward the other members of the Strike Force. Sylvain used his bulk quite effectively, as Mercedes followed behind, arms clutched tight at his sides. 

“They’re on the left Sylvain, head that way please.”

Sylvain didn’t ask how Mercedes knew where their friends were in the crowd with her head pressed firmly against his back. Some things she just intrinsically knew, and if she didn’t feel the need to share he wasn’t going to pry. As requested, he shifted their direction towards the people he simultaneously most and least wished to see. Ingrid finding the shock of flames upon his head did an adorable jump into the air to fetch his attention.  _ Right again Mercedes. _

Ingrid at the very least seemed relieved to see him; Felix, he was another matter entirely. A hand went straight to the Leven sword at his side, a nervous tick from their youth. He had to know that Sylvain would find them, he had no intention of ever walking into the unknown alone again. The pathetically desperately hopeful part of his mind wanted to believe he found his friends more quickly than anticipated, and Felix was not yet prepared to deal with people. Crowds this large were a major stressor for the man, always had been. It’s an unlikely conclusion, but as it allows his feet to move towards them, instead of freezing with fear, it’ll have to do.

People moved out of the way for the two latecomers of the Black Eagles Strike Force, allowing them to reach Felix and Ingrid at a fairly rapid pace. Mercedes separated herself from Sylvain’s back and quickly embraced the duo, being fast was a necessity when affection and Felix are involved. Ingrid took Mercedes shaking palms in her own, the fear of fighting Dorothea mere months before had her in a similar state. Soft words of affirmation passed from one to the other.

Felix crossed his arms and gave Sylvain a wicked glare, “You’re late.”

Feeling the beginnings of a smile course its way across his face, Sylvain replied, “Well you know me, I had to stop and help a friend in need.”

“So you’ve decided to care about your friends again then?  _ Good to know.” _

The smile died; Sylvain couldn’t stop himself from flinching. The tight swallowing on Felix’s part indicated he didn’t mean the harsh words, but old habits die hard. Every facet of his person honed like a blade, to wound and cut all who dared approach. Years of this, and Sylvain still felt the sting anew. “I thought I was helping, in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t my best plan.” Stepping closer, with the crowds surging forward he had an excuse to touch Felix’s arm, “I’m sorry, Fe. I shouldn’t have left like that. You de-”

“Don’t. Not here. Live to the end of this battle, prove you aren’t a  _ total _ fool and then maybe we can talk.”   


Sylvain threw out a wink hoping to lighten the mood: "Maybe? I can work with that.” 

Felix huffed, the closest he’d come to a laugh this close to waking from sleep. Sylvain would know, he had a catalogue in his mind of every sound of joy Felix is yet capable of. A pastime that should have given away his emotional sentiments at an earlier time, were he capable of realizing such a thing. No matter what befell them, the cruelties and petty barbs thrown between, those moments of genuine happiness were treasured, earned even if Sylvain didn’t feel worthy of such a gift.

A flash of red and a trumpet sound forced Sylvain to look away, towards the Emperor his fate was now tied to. Standing in the center of the makeshift circle, Edelgard walked the circumference as she spoke, ensuring all could hear her, as very few would be able to actually see, her even with her heeled boots.

“Friends, comrades, Champions of the Empire battle is upon us once more. The enemy is not as surprised by our arrival as we had hoped. The high walls held more eyes than anticipated. Let it be known that no member of my court is perfect, and I urge you not to see any of us as such. We are all mortal, capable of doing less than expected, we all need to rest and recuperate; and unfortunately for many of us the time to do so simply does not exist. We will march within the hour, I must meet with my Black Eagles Strike Force to discuss a slight change of plans. Fret not, we may not have the element of surprise but we have superior skill and numbers.  _ We will win this fight!" _

A raucous cheer sounded through cognizant members of the crowd and Caspar who just loved to yell. Nodding to herself, Edelgard continued: "Ready yourselves for combat and gather with your designated battalions. Your commanders will inform you of any potential changes soon. Dismissed.”

The soldiers and healers readied themselves for war. Any grumblings at the lack of sleep after marching all day wouldn’t be uttered until they were far, far away. Edelegard stood near an Imperial banner, as she didn’t feel the need to move towards a tent to discuss the change in plans she and her trusted trio had concocted on the fly. Her Strike Force walked towards her. 

Hubert was positively livid this close, his spies had failed him,  _ failed his lady. _ Sylvain couldn't feel bad for the fool's, whatever fate awaited them could be significantly worse if the lovely ball of sunshine known as the Prime Minister of Enbarr didn't feel the need to sway the shadows with his influence. Even so, this is an unforgivable crime during a war, enduring the craggy cliffs and slowly rolling fog, they were all better trained than this. Placing her hand out to stop whatever prostrations Hubert had prepared, Edelgard counts the forces before her, eyes narrowing as she finishes her assessment.

“We’ve been betrayed. Hubert this isn’t your fault we both vetted the man and he seemed trustworthy. This sort of thing happens, even if it’s the first for this campaign. Come friends, to the war room.”

Sylvain glanced around the collected group steadily moving toward the ominous red and black tent. He didn’t notice anything amiss, although rarely were so many military officials gathered at the same time. There were several faces within their collective he had yet to see before, so this was hardly a surprise that the rat was an unknown. It was better this way, if the betrayal stemmed from one he had a passing familiarity with things would be devastatingly dangerous for his friends. Nearing the tent, Sylvain shuddered as a heavy wave of protective and anti-espionage magic smothered him. He hates this tent with an indescribable vengeance. It may be necessary to ensure information isn’t passed into the wrong hands, but the chills were fucking terrible.

Everyone takes their places around the table, there are no chairs out on the field. Sylvain stands towards the opposite end of the Emperor, Felix and Ingrid flanking either side. Mercedes curls between him and Ingrid, placing a steadying arm across his back to grasp Felix’s shoulder. It might be excessive but they all had to have filled with fear at the accusation of a traitor amongst the Imperial elite. Today could have been their last; at least they wouldn’t have gone out alone. With their enemies' knowledge of their movements, today still could be their last, but Sylvain had witnessed his friends do far too many terrible things on the battlefield to believe in such a possibility. 

Byleth spoke somberly as ever, “Ashe will meet us on the field.”

Another friend condemned to death, the tone is quite apt all things considered. Caspar falls forward, Linhardt’s arms around his shoulders the only thing keeping him upright. They shared a cat, Sylvain recalls. Prior to Linhardt kissing Caspar in the middle of the dining hall as if the pair had been born to do anything else, Sylvain had suspected that Ashe hoped for something more. The same look of despair and fallen tears had crossed his face back then. Someone had eventually caught his fancy, as he scurried away during the Goddess Ball only to return the next day red faced and smiling. He never divulged the particulars of the object of his affection, although his own romantic inclinations and the Church’s extreme disdain made that an understandable omission. Sylvain couldn't help but feel grateful someone was allowed to be happy, and didn’t push the issue, quietly congratulating him after classes let out for the day instead.

Hubert clears his throat and the quiet horror and whispered fears silence. Edelgard looked somewhat ill, as she allegedly always did when another of their year would cease to be. Her path may be bloody and she accepted it would likely be lonely, but those who followed her had their own interpersonal strings severed by the war, with each snip she feared someone would leave her alone. She didn’t say any of this aloud of course, and the change in her visage was barely noticeable. Had Sylvain not recognized that same profound terror upon his own countenance, he likely wouldn’t notice it at all.

“Friends, what we must do is truly unpleasant. I know many of you care for the archer and gardener extraordinaire. Ashe is a kind soul, he doesn’t belong on this field, just as many of you in my company do not. War forces us to be terrible things, to  _ do _ terrible things. I understand how difficult this must be. If it is at all possible, keep him alive. This is a revolution to free the common people, not a needless slaughter. I know not in what capacity he would fit within our fold, but if it is possible to sway him please do so.”

A frighteningly handsome man with purple hair steps forward, a slightly familiar frame. Sylvain knows this isn’t the time to determine where they first met, but he strongly doubts it was at a council meeting. A pretty blonde woman with long hair grasps his shoulder, he can’t help his eyes from widening, he definitely recalls the pair now,  _ they were fun. _

A savage smile that could give Hubert a run for his money graces the man’s face, as a frightening voice offered no alternative, "That twink  _ better _ live".

Edelgard’s eyes flutter in surprise. Byleth smiles softly and nods their ascent, offering a simple, “indeed” in response.

Brushing hair out of his face as the young woman begins to whisper-yell into his ear, the man something with a ‘Y’ or a ‘U’ perhaps, the woman is more fuzzy. A dark chuckle escapes him at her words, “That’s an excellent suggestion, Constance, why share that with me instead of the entire class?”

“Yuri! Don’t be ridiculous that can’t possibly work. I’m not about to risk dampening my brilliance in Her Majesty’s eyes with such a half-assed display.  _ The audacity!” _

Edelgard smiles softly in return, her face matching that of her beloved. The bubbling of mirth is barely disguised as she speaks, “Well, now I’m really intrigued. No idea is bad, just presently infeasible. Please share... _ with the class _ .”

Caspar rises laughing slightly, as Linhardt wraps him in a constricting embrace. Others around the table are also hesitant and hopeful, that whatever plan is presented, even if imperfect triggers a wide array of counterpoints resulting in a living Ashe. Sylvain's relieved, he didn’t know of a single person who thought ill of his friend, but it is still possible they yet exist. Ingrid began to relax slightly, as Mercedes focused more intently on the room. Sylvain didn’t need to turn to know that a heavy glare covered Felix’s face, he never relied on hope. He wouldn’t believe Ashe could be safe until the sight of it was directly in front of him.

“Oh, I simply mustn’t, this is the faintest inkling of an idea. A sheer moment of whimsy, it’s not ready for other’s ears. Why, I only mentioned it to Yuri in the hopes someone else had an alternative already in place for such a scenario.” A very pointed frown, yet still quite the dignified expression crossed the wo- Constance’s face as she spoke. The subtle movement of her gaze towards Hubert filled with utter condemnation caused the man to glance down at the battleplans upon the table.

“Fine then, I suppose I’ll just have to share instead. Will that do Connie?”

“No, of course not! Knowing you, something nefarious will sneak into a perfectly sensible plan.”

“Plan? I thought this wasn’t even an idea?”

“Oh, very well. The gardener back at Garreg Mach passed away recently, I’m sure those of you who ventured to see such lush beautiful foliage mourn her passing quite terribly. Regardless of if he wishes to accompany us all back to the Monastery, someone should simply, oh what’s the word you ruffians use? Something with an 's'?"

A slightly amused Hubert replied, "Snatch?"

" _ Snatch! _ That's exactly it. Ohohoho, someone with the skills to sneak on and off a battlefield should knock dear Ashe upside the head or hit him with a sleeping dart unawares, then carry him back to camp. Simple really. Ashe is returned to the fold, and can be left to the gardens. That boy always did love his plants, if needed a close eye can be placed over him as well. If that isn’t amiable to the rest of this fine company, we can always steal him away to the bowels of the Monastery, the Professor can attest it’s quite lovely now. We’ve repainted!”

Byleth stepped forwards, placing a comforting hand upon Edelgard’s arm. Glancing around the tent, they seemed quite pleased by the ponderings of their fellow warriors. Even Sylvain had to admit the plan might work, whoever was selected to extract Ashe would need to be nimble, jumping on and off the field at a rapid pace. Ideally someone mounted could attempt this task with some modicum of success.

“Yuri, I trust you to do what needs to be done. Put that relic to good use, and get your man,” Byleth smiled and nodded.

“Well, alright then, challenge accepted.”

“And I am hailed a genius once more, what a happy day.”

The matter is settled, Byleth so rarely chimes into these discussions, that when they deign to speak, they're listened to. The plan is rather sound. It just might work. What was once a casual embrace has turned into a mandatory group hug, as Mercedes forces her three friends towards her. Heads bumped together they whisper collectively a simple wish, _“Don’t die today.”_

As years continued and the war barely progressed, things in the Kingdom became more of a mess than they had ever been before. Sylvain didn’t know who started the team slogan, but it was simple enough than anyone who heard knew their marching orders. Anyone who didn’t feel up to the task had to face Mercedes’ wrath, a horrifying sight to behold, no one made that mistake twice. The other generals and battalion leaders had left the tent, likely to seek out their subordinates. Only the Professor remained, nodding at the quartet, they echoed back: “Please, don’t die today. Be smart, guard the camp but know your lives are more valuable than a few tents and sacks of grain.”

Then they too left to prepare for battle. The camp held far more than a few sacks of grain, disrupted trade lines made things infinitely more difficult for those on the field. Failing today, would mean they may live, yet far more soldiers would die as supplies dwindled in the march north. Mercedes was the first to join them together and the first to let go, “I must find the other healers and determine where we will all be located on the field. I know you don’t need it, but good luck.”

Deciding to offer a plan before Ingrid suggests something she's only read the theory of, Sylvain speaks, “Alrighty then friends, we have a battle to win and tents to save. Grab your shit and whatever shitheads you’ve been stuck with, my battalion I swear have never ridden horses in their lives. I hope yours have more to bring to the table. Meet at the outer rim of the camp.”

“Solid plan Sylvain, I’ll ready the few fliers I’ve been allocated to sweep overhead. We don’t want to be too close to camp lest it appear we have something worth stealing. We should congregate closer to the outcropping of trees to the west, if need be you or I can sweep in quickly while the rest flank our foes.”

“I suppose that will do, Sylvain don’t forget another lance, that  _ thing  _ alone won’t save you.”

Throwing a casual arm over Felix’s shoulders that’s quickly thrown off, Sylvain replies smiling, “That goes against everything my parents have ever told me, but since you asked so nicely I suppose I’ll listen.”

Felix’s stuttering, failed reply and vibrant blush made everything feel real again. Ingrid’s eye roll at the display was audible. The trio set off to find their respective battalions, readying themselves for the battle to come. Guard duty was rarely exciting, but now that Byleth is back, anything's possible and it’s best to prepare as such. Battle nears.

***

At some point during the battle, Yuri finds Ashe. It's astonishing, truly, the way Yuri cuts through enemies like they're nothing, skidding to a halt in front of his old friend. Ashe pauses, tentatively reaching out a hand, and the two pause, battle raging around them, exchanging whispered words. In the blink of an eye, Ashe throws down his bow, leaping into Yuri's arms. Yuri backs up, accepting Ashe's kiss, and the two retreat from the field. 

Sylvain, watching the display from the camp whistles, ignoring the bird Yuri flips him over Ashe's shoulder. When a beast appears nearby, he and his closest friends ready themselves to set off and slay it, thereby defending the camps as requested. Felix mutters something under his breath about the lack of help, while Ingrid replies that he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. Sylvain almost says something to stop their squabbling but a battle is afoot and saves him from a moment of emotional intimacy.

"Soldiers defend the camp from other humans, leave the beast to us. Flyers provide tactical support. No risky maneuvers." Ingrid yells from overhead.

The faint crackling of electricity ricochets off of Felix as a mighty Thoron blasts into the beast's side. Attention directed their way, Sylvain throws out his arm and pulls Felix onto his horse. Setting off before tense arms wrap around him, Rook gallops towards the treeline away from camp. The fighting on the main field has dwindled enough in the last hour or so that the paltry battalions left behind should manage more or less to keep things standing. The beast follows yowling into the woods, Ingrid's tactical lance strikes keeping it just far enough back for the temporary cavalry pair to stay out of harm's way.

_ Just a little farther. _ There's a small clearing several hundred meters away, if they can manage to reach it before pursuing combat in earnest, there's a greater chance for minimal casualties should the worse come to pass. Sylvain tries to avoid thinking of how large the monstrosity is and how similar it appears to one of his recurring nightmares. This thing is without a doubt the largest beast he's ever seen, with legs as long as he is tall and a wicked spiked tail. Sending a quick prayer out into the universe it doesn't have an innate magical ability, Sylvain urges Rook to move faster with a tap of his boot. 

Sylvain can feel a growing warmth behind him from the beast's nearing breath. It must be unbearable for Felix under all his leather and fur. Feeling a need to be rid of such discomfort, Felix hooks an arm around Sylvain's chest, damn near choking him, and sends a Thunder spell behind them. As he reorients himself, Sylvain coughs as pressure is removed from his throat. Felix huffs a laugh against his hair in response.  _ A few more meters, there the clearing is in sight! _

Ingrid swoops down from above, a mighty battlecry roars as she descends. Fingers gripped tightly against Sylvain's arms in warning, Felix lunges from Rook with a warcry of his own. Free to maneuver in earnest, Sylvain grips the Lance of Ruin. He no longer grits his teeth in disgust and horror at the bloodlust and rage that overtakes his form at the contact. The hero's relic is hungry and will not wait for it's next feast, it vibrates with anticipation. 

Spinning his steed around the small clearing, Rook rears on back legs before Sylvain sends them forward to charge. A three-way attack from all sides just might keep them alive long enough to wear down the beast's defenses. Channeling a fire spell through his lance, just like he and Dorothea practiced, Sylvain begins his attack. Using the rippling momentum of the blast to follow up his attack with slash at the beast with his lance.

Timing his retreat to coincide with a powerful arc from the levin sword at Felix's side; Sylvain nimbly dodges a misplaced leg, as the beast attempts to turn towards it's newest target. Bobbing in and out of the fray, Ingrid vollies swift blows of her own, Lúin shining in the coming dawn. The sudden appearance of light does little to help visibility amongst dense foliage and swirling fog, but one with an artistic inclination would surely appreciate the ephemeral beauty of the moment. Sylvain certainly does. Assuming they make it out alive, he has every intention of commissioning that Alliance kid with the glasses for a painting of the scene. Both Felix and Ingrid would hate it, but he didn't care.

Ingrid whistles a warning while spinning out of the way of the beast's mighty tail, spikes upon are as long as the swords Felix loves so much. Preparing for the movement of the appendage, Sylvain skirts out of its way. Clutching Rook's reins with one hand, he sets the Lance of Ruin along his thighs to grab a spear hooked on his saddle. Arm extended, he throws with all his strength. The spear sticks, an oozing trail of viscous red blood escapes the monster's leg. Swapping the traditional wooden spears of Faerghus for steel certainly had its benefit, even if the excess weight made them far less accurate to throw. 

Lashing out in pain, the beast sends its tail towards Sylvain once more as its head attempts to bite Ingrid out of the sky. The gnashing and chomping of it's jaws sends a small dose of horror straight to his veins with every new utterance of sound. Of all the weapons in this beast's arsenal, it's teeth are clearly the most deadly, one wouldn't survive a brush with them. Ingrid's pegasus is doing everything and anything to stay away but this battle has been long and they fought quite extensively before this excursion in the woods. The beast begins to wobble on back legs, attempting to gain more height to attack Ingrid in earnest. 

Sylvain sees red, the Lance of Ruin in his hands has nothing to do with the homicidal sensation. Screaming in pain as a Ragnarok shoots from his arm, channeled through the Lance, Sylvain loses all feeling in his right arm. He's never cast this spell successfully before, but a lifetime of promises to keep his friends safe matters more than any personal pain. If he dies today so be it, as long as Felix and Ingrid survive. Seeing the wave of fire magic coursing towards the beast, Ingrid shoots up into the air and unleashes a spear of her own aimed at something on its head, most likely an eye. Felix shoots backwards, unaware of how far reaching the flames will be once they meet their chosen target, a Thoron of his own is sent down the beast's open throat as it pauses eyes wide in horror of it's inevitable end. 

Ragnarok was used mere seconds ago, and yet Sylvain watches this all unfold in slow motion, adrenaline coursing through his veins to numb the pain from his now useless arm. Gripping the Lance of Ruin in his left arm, thighs tight against Rook's flank reins forgotten, not that his fingers could properly close around them, Sylvain readies himself to charge once the flames take hold. A whoosh and monstrous roar of rage and pain, flames scour the ground with soot and ash, clunks of flesh are knocked off the beast and open sores of viscera stain the ground red. Black and Red. Imperial colors, the final proof they've all turned over a new leaf.

Ingrid shouts "now" with her voice hoarse and pained from smoke. The trio ready themselves for a joint attack. Urging Rook to charge forward, Sylvain waits then leaps from her back driving the Lance of Ruin deep into the beast's side. Ingrid hanging upside down on her pegasus does the same with Lúin. Felix unleashes a horrifying display of quick slashes and jabs of his own. Together they bring the beast down. 

In the aftermath of violence they wait a few precious moments battle ready, should their prowess on the field need to be tested anew. The beast could yet have strength hidden within to endure. It did not. Yanking the Lance of Ruin out of its side, Sylvain turns to find his horse skirting the cleanest section of the clearing. If he knew how to magic out the flames he'd do so, but alas neither be nor Felix knew any ice spells. That's always been Annette's place to shine, their collective distaste for the north probably had something to do with mental block at learning such things.

The beast is finally dead. Felix follows Sylvain closely behind, as Ingrid hovers overhead. Sylvain buries his face in Felix’s hair, who leans upwards into the embrace. Ingrid not to outdone, after leaping from her pegasus jumps onto their embraced form, legs wrapping around their waists. Simultaneously, her boys throw out an arm to support her, fingers entwined upon her back. Sylvain’s right arm hangs loose, limp and unfeeling. They’ll need to find him a healer soon but this moment is too important to ruin with his own bodily failings. They embraced, for what else is there to do when a long fought battle is won but to celebrate with the only people who matter? They could have died, but they did not. 

Minutes could have passed, maybe even hours, before other members of the Imperial Army found them, surrounded by blood and flames. A huge beast decomposing on the ground, a trail of gore leading an easy path to their conjoined whole. The group that found them draws near, shouts indistinguishable from the ringing in their ears draws nearer. Ingrid wraps her arms around their shoulders and kisses two temples in quick succession, before returning her feet to the ground. The sudden loss of weight shifts Sylvain’s equilibrium, the glorious joy of adrenalin slowly weans it’s way out of his body, as sharp shooting pains course through his arm. Felix steps away, face alight, and Sylvain falls. His slurred apology met with dual shouts of his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another battle dawns next week. In theory anyway, work is nuts right now. My occupation has been deemed essential for societal functioning, so my life is a chaotic mess. I will do my best to post next week!   
> Thanks for spending time with me, stay safe out there!!!
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on Tumblr at:  
> [ @manuelacasagrandalovemechallenge](manuelacasagrandalovemechallenge.tumblr.com)  
> or my main [@keletania](keletania.tumblr.com%22)


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